


Blood Orange

by hollycrowned



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Behavior, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycrowned/pseuds/hollycrowned
Summary: Healing their physical wounds has been the easy part—now that they're alone together, it's clear that the deeper scars they share need addressing.





	Blood Orange

**Author's Note:**

> my vignette featured in the After The Fall zine! this is my first time posting fic for Hannibal, and it's been wonderful to feel so welcomed into the fandom. thank you to Luc and Oliver for putting this collection together!

Setting the last dish on their dining table, Hannibal gazed at the evening light that played beyond the open balcony doors. The sun was setting, and it cast a long shadow on the building across the street from their apartment. The highest levels of the building were still illuminated by orange light, a few of the windows blazing with reflection, as though the structure were in flames. The sky above was a darkening shade of blue.

Will had returned from a walk some time ago to find Hannibal at work in the kitchen, and (at Hannibal’s insistence; Will’s shoulder was still stiff) had settled in a chair on the balcony with a book to pass the time before dinner. He had left the doors open, and a warm breeze drifted in, rustling the curtains.

When Hannibal stepped onto the balcony, he expected to find Will asleep, as Will had not turned a single page of his book in the last half-hour. He found Will awake, book closed in his lap, staring at the street below.

Attached to the burning building, at ground level, was a small cafe with a collection of tables and chairs that lined the sidewalk. When Hannibal followed his line of sight, he spied the object of Will’s attention: a young woman, pale with straight dark hair, sitting at one of the tables. She was reading a textbook with a bright shiny cover, and lifted a white teacup to her lips.

Will’s posture was relaxed, but his gaze was distant as he watched her. Hannibal murmured his name once, and then again when there was no response. When he brushed his hand across Will’s shoulder, Will finally stirred.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I was just, uh...” He glanced down at the street and the young woman again, then fidgeted and cleared his throat. “Dinner already?”

Hannibal offered his hand. Will took it, and Hannibal led him into their dim apartment.

Inside, Will made for the table, but Hannibal pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and the scar there. Will huffed, but resigned himself; by margins, he relaxed in Hannibal’s arms, although his hands grasped Hannibal’s shirt. 

“Is there something you need?” Hannibal asked, voice low.

Will cleared his throat again and ducked his head. “Food, maybe.”

Their meal, as it were, was cooling on the table within Hannibal’s view. The meat had been selected by Will the week prior—a man caught berating a waitress over the price of coffee. The young waitress, red-faced and nearly in tears, had straight dark hair and wide blue eyes. It was too soon after their escape to not be a risk, but that hadn’t mattered to Hannibal. Will had been furious that day.

Now, Will was smoothing Hannibal’s shirt where he had wrinkled it, silent. Hannibal stroked his hair, and then again. They had only been together in Marseille for two months. Their life together had been easy, reassuring. Focused on healing the worst of their wounds and navigating the city discreetly, they’d had little opportunity to address the graves between them. Hannibal supposed with this—with Abigail—was one of the better plots to start.

Beyond the doors, the evening burned away and the shadows grew. “I will always feed you,” said Hannibal. “But dinner can wait.”


End file.
